They stare at me expectantly. “And what makes you think I have time to do this?” Both men glance at the trailer and then back at me. “Oh no. I’m really bad with living things. The last plant I had? It died a slow death—and that was a cactus. Do you know how hard it is tokilla cactus?”
“You’ll be fine.” Ron pushes the lambiwhatever—okay, fine,corn. He pushes the lambicorn into my arms. “It’ll drink goat’s milk. Be sure to warm it up.”
Then they walk off, leaving me alone with the baby.
I put it down and follow the men. “I don’t want it.”
Ron shoots a look over his shoulder. “Looks likeitwantsyou.”
I turn back to see the lambicorn following me. Orthem. Itcouldbe following them. After all, Ron did touch it first. Maybe it imprinted on him and now believes Ron to be its slightly overweight and balding mother.
I head back to the trailer. Not my lambicorn. Not my problem.
I open the door and walk through. I turn to shut it behind me and—
“Baaaaaaaa.”
It looks up with big brown eyes that will not make me fold. “Listen, kid, I’m not your mom. Or your dad. I’m not interested in complications. I want to build this resort, make my money, and move on. Got it?”
“Baaaaaaaa.”
What is it with this sheep? Can’t it take a hint?
Just as I’m about to shoo it away—I mean, really shoo, like actually push the creature into the woods where maybe it can find another lambicorn and live happily ever after—a car drives up the red-clay landscape and comes to a halt.
I figure it’s one of the workers showing up late, but when I peer closer, it’s a woman.
At a construction site.
Don’t get me wrong, plenty of women are fixtures on construction sites, but not this one. This is an all-dude affair.
When she exits the car, the first thing I notice is how her dark hair is slicked up into a tight, perfect bun. She’s wearing jeans, a flowy shirt, and heels. But it’s the bun that grabs my attention. It gives her this whole librarian vibe that’s very alluring.
And her legs—they’re astronomically long. Wow.
The urge to meet her is like a punch in the face.
She hauls a stack of papers from the car and shuts the door by bumping it with her rear end—which is quite round and very attractive. Then my date with destiny takes a long look at the steel beams and the poured foundation.
Impressive, I know.
She frowns. At my construction site. Peers again. Takes off her sunglasses and stares.
“Can I help you?” I ask, approaching.
She spins toward me, startled, and every piece of paper slips from her grasp. They plummet to the ground like a waterfall, and she drops to her knees to gather the scattered sheets.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ...”
I bend down to grab a few of the pages and hand them to her, wiping off the dirt first.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The woman, still crouching, looks at me and smiles. Freckles constellate her red cheeks and she has big doe eyes. Long, dark lashes. She appears a bit younger than my thirty-five years.
“Can I help you?” I repeat, rising.
